


if the world don't break

by agntsanvers



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bodyguard AU, F/F, Yearning, dinah is a strong willed princess, even though she pretends she's not, helena is a badass awkward bodyguard, helena is a big softy who's impressed by Dinah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agntsanvers/pseuds/agntsanvers
Summary: After an attempt on Princess Dinah's life, former mercenary Helena Bertinelli becomes her bodyguard.8/9: Chapters rewritten
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 15
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've posted anything, and it's my first time posting for this pairing! Feels good to get back into it. 
> 
> so....I was so unhappy with this chapter that I changed it! I also edited chapter 2, so that should be up in the next few days.

Helena sits cross-legged on her bunk, fiddling with the lock plate of her crossbow. There are other soldiers in the barracks, but she doesn’t bother them and they give her a wide berth. She likes it that way, it lets her focus on what she’s doing. 

A shadow falls across her lap, blocking her view of the small mechanism she’s messing with. She looks up, annoyed at the disturbance. An unfamiliar soldier stands over heer, looking annoyed that he’s even had to approach. “Yes?” she asks.

“You’re wanted at the training grounds, sellsword,” he spits, looking at her in disdain. 

She hates that word.

In an instant, she’s on her feet, their noses almost brushing as she gets in his face. “I’m not a sellsword.”

She’s just as much of a soldier as any of them. She went through the same training (not that she needed it), and earned her place here. Her past shouldn’t change that.

But it does.

“You’re right, you’re not. You failed at selling yourself to the highest bidder so you came her to fail at being an archer.” He steps back. “Just get to the training ground.”

She could have him on his back and bloody before he could blink. It’d be so easy. She can almost feel the satisfying crunch of her knuckles on his face. Clenching her fist, she grinds her teeth together and holds herself back. 

“Thank you for informing me,” she forces herself to say. 

“Didn’t have much of a choice.” He spins on his heel and leaves her alone. 

She doesn’t even know why she bothers trying to be cordial to these men. 

Everyone else in the room watches as she gathers her things, she can feel it in the prickle on the back of her neck. Ignoring them, Helena shrugs on ehr leather breastplate. She has to dig for her bracers, the leather buried under extra clothing in her pack. Her boots, steel bracers, and helmet come next, each piece allowing the tension to leave her body, lessening the effect of the stares still focused on her. Her sword and crossbow come last and she marches out of the building.

As she approaches the training fields, Helena keeps an eye out for anyone who could have summoned her. The only person of significant rank is a knight, Montoya. She leans against the fence on the far side of the sparring ring. Helena weaves her way through the groups of guards gathered in clumps around the ring, either chatting or heckling the wrestlers inside. She comes to rest at attention by Montoya’s side. 

“You asked to see me, sir?”

Montoya lazily returns the salute. “At ease, Bertrelli.”

As always, her last name makes her flinch. (As a kid, she’d asked her uncle if anyone else felt _wrong_ when they heard their last name. He’d gone quiet and still and only answered her with a harsh grunt. She hadn’t asked again.) 

“You have a new assignment. Come on.”

Montoya doesn’t wait, setting off towards the castle at a quick march. Helena wants to ask for more details than ‘new assignment,’ but she’s also seen Montoya on a rampage. Keeping Montoya calm is worth staying in the dark. 

They keep heading towards the castle, not taking any of the turn-offs along the main path. It gets harder not to ask questions the closer they get to the front gates. She doesn’t get assigned castle duty. Her previous experience as a mercenary means she isn’t trusted enough to be close to the royals. She mostly gets assigned to posts no one else will take.

Helena falters on the threshold of the castle, weirdly nervous about what will happen once she’s inside. It’s been _years_ since she’s had an real assignment, done something that matters, and she can tell this assignment is going to change everything. 

Montoya, of course, notices. “C’mon, soldier, we can’t keep the royals waiting. Leave whatever hang-ups you have here and be a good soldier.”

 _Royals._

So not only is she going to be in the castle, she’s going to be working directly with royalty. Helena feels a bit sick. She follows Montoya inside anyways. They wind through the halls and Helena can feel her palms sweat. She forces her nerves down, pushes steel into her spine and tilts her head up. 

* * *

_The fist comes out of nowhere, feeling like a hammer as it slams into her side. Air rushes out of Helena’s mouth, followed by a pained whine. She slumps, her tight guard slipping just enough. An elbow hurtles towards her face, stopping just above her temple._

_Sal takes a step back, pulling off his hand wraps. “You let your guard down,” he admonishes._

_“I couldn’t breathe!” Helena’s eleven and petulant and_ very _done with training, thankyouverymuch._

_“Use the pain to tighten your guard. Move with the waves to tense your muscles. I was able to find that opening because I saw that you were weak.”_

_He raps her lightly on the head with his bare knuckles._

_“Never show weakness, Little One. It_ will _be used against you.”_

* * *

Helena’s snapped out of the memory by Montoya turning to her without warning. They’ve made it to the main hall, two guards flanking the entrance. 

“This is important,” she says, jabbing a finger into Helena’s chest. “So behave. Don’t be fuckin’ weird or nothin’. You’ll make me look bad.”

Helena isn’t sure which of her behaviors would be considered weird. Unaffected and calm she can do, every good mercenary can. She imagines how Sal would be in this situation, drawing on the image of his stoic calm. Inhaling deeply, she breathes out some of her tension and nods at Montoya.

She still feels kind of sick. 

With another scrutinising look, Montoya turns away and pulls open the doors. She takes a moment before she follows, pushing her visor up so her eyes are exposed. Montoya leads Helena down the carpeted walkway to the thrones. The royal family watches them carefully as they approach. The queen looks strung out, pale and worried about something. Her eyes dart around the chamber like she’s searching for something, but the rest of her is almost unnaturally still like she’s trying to project a calm exterior. The king is stoic, but his brown skin also has a bit of a pallor to it. The princess is glaring at Montoya and Helena as though they’ve wronged her somehow, her full cheeks flushed and her brown eyes narrowed in some sort of threat.

They reach the dias and the anxiety Helena’s been trying to suppress comes back full force. She covers it by standing at attention and bowing, every muscle in her body flexed and straining. 

“What is your name, soldier?” he asks, eyeing her.

“Helena Berti-Bertrelli, Your Majesty.”

He grunts in acknowledgement. “This is your choice, Sir Montoya?” He doesn’t take his eyes off Helena. “I can see the stripe on her sword hilt. You’ve brought me a sellsword.”

Helena wants to cover the small strip of white leather that rests just above the pommel but she doesn’t know if that would be weird - or a sign that she’s ashamed of her past. 

“Your Majesty,” Montoya dips her head like she’s conceding his point. “While she is a mercenary, she has been a part of your army for five years now. She is a loyal soldier. In terms of this assignment, I think she is the perfect choice. She blends in well and has skills in both close and long range combat.”

Helena twitches, surprised at the slight praise. Montoya is closed off at the best of times; Helena hadn’t realized she paid enough attention to compliment her. It’s a nice feeling. Knowing someone sees her skill.

“Fine. I trust your judgement.” The king is still staring at Helena, his eyes intense and dark. “You’re aware of the assassination attempt on my daughter, yes?”

Helena’s eyes flicker over to the princess’s. If anything, her glower has deepened. The frown makes her dimples stand out just like a smile would. Helena frowns subtly at the open hostility radiating from the princess. _Helena_ isn’t the one who tried to murder her. Strangely enough, though, the princess doesn’t look worried by the mention of the attack on her life.

“In the interest of keeping my daughter safe, I’m assigning you as her bodyguard. You will stay with her at all times. You will sleep in the antechamber of her room. Everything she does, you do. You will protect her with your life. Am I clear?” His voice easily carries through the chamber, becoming more intense with each sentence until it sounds like a hammer slamming on her ribs, even though he doesn’t raise his voice.

Ah. The anger from the princess makes sense now. Helena wouldn’t want a bodyguard either. What doesn’t make sense is why the princess wouldn’t want protection. Helena can take care of herself, but she’s pretty sure most royalty can’t. An extra soldier should be a welcome change, not a reason to glare bloody murder at someone.

“It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

Helena’s dizzy with the amount of trust being placed in her. The jump from no trust to enough that she’s protecting the princess is almost unimaginable. Helena spends the rest of the brief meeting in a daze, trying to figure out how she got here. She barely hears the king instructing her to meet the princess in an hour at her chambers before they’re bowing once more and leaving the room. 

Montoya once more takes the lead, Helena trailing behind as they move through the halls. She makes note of all the alcoves and potential ambush points along the way. She’ll need a map, or an opportunity to wander the halls, to get familiar with the castle layout. They stop in front of a large set of wood doors.

“This is the princess’s room. Once you have your things, you’ll head back here to start your guard duty. Do you know your way back to the barracks?”

Helena doesn’t, but nods anyways. 

“Good. Don’t fuck this up.”

Montoya leaves, but before she can get too far, Helena speaks, unable to hold it in any longer. “Why me?”

Montoya studies her, the harsh slant of her mouth softening a bit. “You’re a good soldier, not that anyone lets you show that too often. You’re capable and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I’m giving you a chance to live up to your potential.” Helena’s worry must show somewhere on her face, because Montoya actually smiles at her. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this kid.”

She’s gone the next moment, Helena’s “thank you, sir” heard by nothing but empty air.

She studies the doors, oddly imposing for slabs of wood. Her right hand wanders to the hilt of her sword, the leather of her gloves and the hilt creaking together as she clenches her fist. Her potential, Montoya had said. Whatever happens in these walls, behind those doors, will determine how Helena spends the rest of her time as a guard. She has a chance to prove that being a mercenary isn’t a bad thing, a chance to prove her loyalty. 

“So you’re the one who’s supposed to watch me.”

Helena turns so quickly her visor clangs shut. The princess stands right behind her. She hurries to bow, but realizes she’s too close when she almost plows into the princess’s forehead. Stumbling back, she bumps the doors but still gets enough room to show her respects. 

“Good day, Your Highness.”

She studies the princess through her visor. Her first impression of the princess is that she's small. Not sickly or anything, just slight and wiry in a way most nobles aren't. Even her parents have the softness that consistent access to good food will give you. It makes Helena wonder what’s different about the princess. But that’s a dangerous line of thought. She needs to focus on her assignment, not her own curiosity.

“Have you already retrieved your things?” The question is condescending, a blatant challenge to Helena’s obvious bending of her father’s instructions. 

“No, Your Highness. My commander thought it smart to let me gain my bearings in the castle before I retrieved my belongings.”

“Well, sellsword, you better run along. You don’t want to be late getting back. I doubt my father would be happy.”

The princess tilts her head, waiting for Helena’s reaction. _Never show weakness._ Helena acknowledges the threat with a nod. The princess is just like the soldiers, all condescension and snark, right down to her sharp smile. She can’t fight the princess, though, can’t force her respect at the slam of her fists. 

The princess moves to the side, no longer blocking Helena against the door. “Hurry back.”

There’s something in her voice that tells Helena she should be prepared for the princess to be gone when she gets back, that she should be prepared to track her through the castle she grew up in, the castle that Helena’s never truly been in until today. She accepts the dismissal and does another quick bow before striding off. She lets herself get out of earshot before she takes off into a quick jog. Helena has always let the physical speak for her, whether that be through violence or in gentle, awkward displays of affection. Her words, so often fumbling and too blunt, have never done her any favors. She doesn’t have to second guess movement - it’s simple and true in its intentions. The princess has grown up a wordsmith, learned to play politics at the knee of a ruler. She has skills Helena will never understand, an ease born of royal training. And Helena’s fighting on her terms now, an unfamiliar battlefield that already has her off balance. 

Helena bows once more and leaves. It takes her a few minutes, but she manages to make it out of the castle and back to the barracks, memorizing the correct route as she goes. Like she expected, the princess is gone when she returns. She lets herself into the chambers, gaping at the opulence. The bed is huge, easily double - or triple- the size of her cot and draped in heavy furs and a finely woven blanket. The walls are colorful and gilded, and they honestly kind of hurt Helena’s eyes. An equally gaudy vanity rests against one of the walls. Tucked away in the back of the room is a nondescript door. It opens to a plain, undecorated room barely bigger than a closet. Helena’s never been happier to see blank walls after the main room. Assuming that this is where she’ll be sleeping for the foreseeable future, Helena drops her bag at the end of the bed and goes back to the main chamber. 

While fancy, the furniture doesn’t allow much room for hiding. On her final pass of the room, Helena notices a scrap of parchment left on the vanity. 

Helena’s lucky. She’s one of the few non-noble soldiers who can read. It’s slow going, making it through the note. While she can read, it’s been years since she had to and even longer since she learned. She doesn’t know why she learned or who taught her, most orphans aren’t given the chance. It’s handy now, though, and Helena’s thankful. 

The princess’s handwriting is neat, gently curling and arching letters sweeping across the page. 

Sellsword, 

Hopefully you can read. I don’t know if commoners learn to. If you can, good for you; you’ll find me faster and my father probably won’t punish you for losing me. If you can’t, well then, I might not have to deal with having a bodyguard by sundown. Either way, I’m sure by now you’ve realized I’m gone. I’m in the kitchen. Follow your nose, merc. Better find me before Papa realizes you’re not suited for this job.

Princess Dinah

Helena crumbles the note. The princess is a dick. She’s almost tempted to wait it out, see if she’ll lose the job. But there’s Montoya’s quiet faith and Helena’s ever-driving need to prove herself. And the princess, Dinah, could die if Helena’s not careful. Above anything, Dinah is her duty now. 

And duty trumps all. The most important lesson Sal and her uncles taught her. 

A frustrated sigh rips out of her throat. Time to find the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah's scared and angry and frustrated, but instead of processing those emotions, she just wails on Helena, whose only thoughts are 'man i wish Dinah would smile at me' and 'why are princesses like this'
> 
> Also, Harley's here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again with another mediocre chapter

Helena, at first,  _ does  _ try following her nose. She figures the princess must have meant something by that part of the letter, but she mostly succeeds in getting herself lost. As she loiters in the hall, trying to figure out whether to double back or continue the way she had been heading, a messenger comes rushing towards her. 

“Wait!” she commands, unintentionally slipping into her guard voice.

The messenger skids to a stop, fear flashing across his face in the dim light of the hall. “Y-yes, ma’am? What do you need?”

“Do you know where,” she says, voice menacing. She advances and pulls herself up so she towers above him. “The kitchens are?”

The boy looks confused before a look of slight exasperation slips across his face. “Of course, guardsman. Continue down this hall the way I came turn right then take the second left. You’ll continue down that hall until you reach the stairs. Go down those, and the kitchens are the fourth door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Not really knowing how to dismiss him, Helena reaches out for a handshake. She hesitates, not knowing if it’s an appropriate action and ends up patting him on the shoulder instead. She walks away, not sticking around to see how the boy would react to her. 

Her bootsteps echo loudly along the stone corridor. It’s more dreary than she would have expected, gray walls and floors only occasionally covered by a rug or tapestry. The only light comes from mounted torches, the shifting fire casting dancing shadows across every surface. Helena almost expected people to be constantly rushing to and fro, but besides the messenger, she doesn’t see anyone else. 

The kitchens are easy to find once she gets close. She truly is able to follow her nose, scents of freshly baked bread and roasted, spiced meats filling the corridors. The doors to the kitchen are wide, enough for two people to pass each other without even brushing elbows. The heat is intense as Helena approaches, the cooking fires enough to heat even beyond the doorway.

Helena doesn’t want to barge in, just in case the princess isn’t actually present. She honestly wouldn’t put it past Dinah to lie to her. She peeks around the edge of the door, scanning the cavernous room. People bustle about, stirring or kneading or chopping. The constant motion makes it easy to spot Dinah, the one point of pure stillness in the room. Sitting on the edge of a prep table, the princess somehow manages to look like she’s holding court. Even looking just at her back, Helena can see the grace that suffuses each of her movements as she talks to two serving girls. She’s comfortable here. And what’s more, the kitchen workers are comfortable with her here. There are no furtive glances, no awkward interactions or incessant apologies as they go on with their duties. Everyone is at ease. Helena hadn’t noticed how much tension Dinah had been holding in her shoulders before, but right now Dinah is all soft edges and flowing movements. No tensed muscles or sharp looks like before. 

Nodding at the various workers as she passes them, Helena comes up behind the princess, quiet enough that she doesn’t notice. It gives her a good opportunity to listen to Dinah’s discussion.

“And you’re sure no one noticed anything?” she asks, her voice low and serious. 

“We’re busy during parties, Your Highness. No one noticed much beyond our own duties.”

Dinah nods. “I understand. Please let me know if you hear anything from the other servers.”

Of course, Highness.” The server bows and her eyes flicker to Helena. “You’ve been found, it seems.”

Dinah looks over her shoulder. Helena’s surprised to see a small smile playing at the edges of her lips. It doesn’t last once she sees Helena. The room feels colder without it.

“Your Highness.” Helena dips her head. 

“I thought it’d take you longer. I’m impressed, sellsword.” There’s that tone again, condescending and borderline harsh.

Helena doesn’t think she means anything by it, but she can’t stop herself from saying, “ _ Don’t. _ ”

Dinah furrows her brow. “Don’t what?”

She can’t just tell royalty what  _ not  _ to do. No matter how much she wants to. And how can she even explain  _ why  _ she hates that phrase, why sellsword feels dirty and cheap when it’s just a  _ word,  _ a word like any other used to describe her. “Nevermind, Your Highness.”

Dinah rolls her eyes and slides from the table. Pushing past Helena, she sweeps from the room, not waiting for Helena to follow her. Helena looks around at the cooks. They’re all careful  _ not  _ to stare at her, in that way where they’re hyper aware of her but would rather not engage. Like she would’ve expected them to be around Dinah, around royalty. She nods stiffly to the servers Dinah had been talking to and exits the kitchens.

Dinah is halfway down the hall by the time Helena exits the kitchen, but it doesn’t take much to catch up. Her strides are longer and it’s a matter of a few half-skips to pull up even with her. The princess doesn’t look at her, doesn’t acknowledge that she’s even there beyond the slight speeding up of her already rushed steps. Helena keeps pace, smiling to herself behind the visor of her helmet, until the princess gives up and walks normally. The furrow in her brow gets just a bit deeper in annoyance. Helena doesn’t even notice she’s staring until she almost walks straight into a servant rushing down the hall. 

She’s supposed to be guarding the princess, not staring at the way the light hitting her face makes her cheekbones look. Helena drops a step back, so she’s behind the princess but close enough to ward off any attack. Far enough away that she won’t stare anymore.

They’re in an unfamiliar part of the castle, not that there’s really any part that can be considered  _ familiar  _ to Helena. Most of the corridors look the same, but they’ve taken two rights and a left since leaving the kitchen, so Helena’s reasonably confident she can find the way back to Dinah’s room if she needs to. 

“So, uh, where are we going?” Helena asks, eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. 

“I have to talk to one more person before I go back to the library for my lessons.”

“What are we going to be discussing?”

“There’s no we here, sellsword.  _ I  _ will talk and  _ you  _ will sit there and look for danger or whatever it is you do.”

“But I can-”

Dinah turns around, making Helena pull up short. “You’re here to keep me safe and nothing else. Beyond that, you do what I say.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Helena is  _ definitely  _ listening in on whatever conversation Dinah is about to have. If Dinah thinks Helena is just going to sit by while something actually  _ interesting  _ goes on around here, she’s got another thing coming. She has an idea already, but she wants to be sure. The assassination attempt happened during a party the king threw for the nobility. So, if Helena could guess, that would mean that Dinah is trying to find out the story behind her own assassination. But Dinah wouldn’t be that stupid, right? Princesses are smart. 

* * *

Helena is wrong. Princesses are  _ not  _ smart. Sometimes, they decide to chase down their own assassins.  _ Sometimes,  _ they go around the castle, questioning a bunch of their workers just to find the smallest lead! Helena tugs off her helmet and chucks it at the ground in frustration.

Kneeling, Helena presses her ear to the door of the gardener’s shack, the location of Dinah’s meeting. Helena has half a mind to open the door and drag the princess out, but she holds herself back. She doesn’t want Dinah to hate her more than she already does.

“The man was tall, maybe a head or so above you,” Dinah says through the door. “He would have run through the south gardens on his way out. Dressed like a guest, some gaudy blue floral design.”

There are a few moments of silence as the gardener thinks. “I saw him. Though it was weird that a fancy guy would be in such a hurry. He left out the south gate. Guard didn’t even stop him.”

That gives Helena pause. Standard protocol would have been to stop whoever is going through the gate, even just to ask where they’re going. Especially if they’re a guest.  _ No  _ guard would just open the gate for a sprinting man. Unless - the realization hits her like a bucket of cold water. Unless the guard was in on it. Helena leans back into the door. 

“Talk to Harley Quinn,” the gardener says. “She always knows a lot more than she should.”

“Thank you for the help, Claude. I’ll find her tomorrow.”

“Have a nice day, Your Highness.”

Hearing footsteps coming towards the door, Helena barely has time to stand back up and pull on her helmet before Dinah comes out.

“Come on,” Dinah says, with the frustrated tone of someone who didn’t learn as much as they wanted to. “Let’s head to the library.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Helena will bring up the whole ‘hunting for your own assassin is a stupid idea’ thing later.

Dinah once again leads them through the halls, Helena hovering close at her shoulder. Something swings from an exposed beam in the corridor in front of them and Helena reacts, pushing Dinah behind her and charging towards the threat. The person leaps from the beam, flipping through the air before landing lightly on the ground. They're met with Helena's fist flying towards their face. It connects with a hard smack to their left cheek, causing them to yelp and duck away. 

Dinah screams something in the background, but Helena ignores her, intent on eliminating the threat. She follows as the potential assassin stumbles back, keeping in range. The assailant regains their bearings and drops backwards towards the floor, using both hands to push off against the stone to send a two legged kick into Helena's chest. Air rushes out of her and she staggers back. Still gasping, Helena pushes through the pain and tackles her attacker to the ground. Rearing up, Helena raises her fists. Her blows never land, however. Recovering quicker than Helena expects, the woman moves in a flurry, lithe fingers jabbing small points across her body. Helena's arms go numb and her vision fuzzes around the edges.

Helena flounders for a moment, trying to think through the fog that’s sweeping her mind. The woman under her is working her way loose from the tight hold of Helena’s legs and Helena forces herself to focus. She headbutts her woman in the head, her helmet impacting her nose with a dull clang. Blood begins to pour from her nose and she goes limp under Helena.

“Alright, alright,” she says, cupping her face. “You win.”

Slowly, other sounds begin to filter in, harsh breathing, the creak of wind against the stone walls, and - Helena winces - a very angry Dinah. 

“For fuck’s sake, I told you to  _ stop. _ ”

The woman under Helena pipes up. “Oh, this one’s yours? Sure packs a punch.”

“Sorry about this, Harley,” Dinah says.

Harley? Like the person who Dinah was supposed to meet up with - oh shit. No wonder Dinah’s a little pissed at her. Still unable to use her arms, Helena rolls off Harley, shoving herself up using her shoulder.

“So, um,” Helena stutters.

Dinah holds up a hand. “Don’t even, sellsword. This is  _ not  _ the time.”

“Somebody’s in trouble, Soldier Boy,” Harley jokes. “Don’t worry about it, Princess. I know everybody’s been all jumpy since that whole assassin business.”

She flips back to her feet, as though the whole fight had never happened. Walking up to Helena, she starts poking and prodding her, following whenever Helena tries to back away. Not having regained the use of her arms, Helena can’t exactly do anything to stop her. 

“She’s a strong one, Princess. You ain’t happy ‘bout her being around though, are ya?” There’s a weird shine of knowing in Harley’s eyes, like she can see right through Dinah and her weird attitudes. “Thinks it makes ya weak.”

Dinah bristles. “ _ Not  _ right now, Harl.”

Harley takes a step away from Helena and raises her hands. “Touchy subject, I know. Heard you were lookin’ for info on that whole assassination thing.”

Dinah rolls with the abrupt subject change. “Yes. Do you have time tomorrow?”

“You know me, free til the king says I ain’t. See ya then, Princess, Soldier Boy.” 

She disappears down the hall, whistling. 

It takes a few minutes, but Helena finally gets feeling back in her arms. 

“Who is Harley?” Helena tries a few minutes later, massaging her stiff shoulders.

“She’s the court jester.”

Somehow, that makes sense for the strange woman. Harley's a whirlwind, quick witted and smart. Perfect for commanding the attention of a room of bored nobles. She wonders if she leaves them as off-center as she left Helena.

* * *

Helena clears the library when they arrive, weaving in and out of the stacks of books until she’s satisfied it’s safe. Dinah’s sitting at a table with her tutor, an older man with dark skin and wise eyes. Helena likes him immediately, he reminds her of her uncles.

She listens in on the lessons for a little while before growing bored, entertaining herself by staring out the window. She zones out until one of the tutor’s instructions catches her interest.

“Name three of the defunct noble houses and two facts about each.”

“Okay,” Dinah hums, thinking. “There’s, uh, the Bertanelli family.”

“Bertinelli,” Helena corrects absentmindedly. “You put the emphasis in the wrong place. They ruled the area a few leagues north of here.”

The rest of the room goes quiet, making Helena look away from the window. Dinah and the tutor are staring at her, twin looks of confusion on their faces. 

“What?” She asks. “Did I do something?”

“Most commoners don’t know the name of noble houses, especially not those that have been lost for almost twenty years now.” The tutor says. 

“I, uh,” To be honest, Helena isn’t sure how she knows. It’s one of those things that’s always been in her head. Like how to organize a dinner party, or how to waltz, or how to balance financials. It’s always just been obvious for her. “I just do?” 

“It appears your bodyguard isn’t just brawn, Your Highness,” the tutor teases.

“She should use those brains a bit more,” Dinah snorts, referencing her fight with Harley.

Helena bristles, but lets the comment slide. Maybe Harley will train with her, teach her how to counter those weird pressure point moves she favors. Now that they’re, y’know, on the same side and all that. 

Helena doesn’t comment through the rest of the lesson, even though she does know a few of the answers. She can use her brain just fine, no matter what Dinah might think.

* * *

Dinah doesn’t speak to her again until they reach her rooms. “You messed up today,” she spits, getting in Helena’s face the instant they get inside. “You attacked someone who was no threat to me.”

And here’s the thing. Technically, Dinah’s right. Harley isn’t a threat. With her fighting skills, Helena honestly counts her as an asset. But the other side of it is that Helena did her job. She identified a threat - a shadowy figure looming above the princess - and did her duty. That is why she’s here, to protect Dinah. 

“I did my job,” she states, not backing down from the anger she can feel rolling off the princess. “I’m your bodyguard. Even if she did not end up being a threat, she initially presented as one. Therefore I moved to take care of her before she had a chance to hurt you.”

"I don't want some stupid bodyguard! I'm perfectly capable of handling things myself. I don’t need you." 

And that still hurts Helena, even though she barely knows this girl, barely cares about her past what her duty demands. 

"Well I'm sorry you don't need me," she yells back, stomach roiling at the way her voice breaks. A sign of weakness she didn't mean to let slip. "Neither of us have much choice, Princess, so you'd best get used to me being around." 

She’s a bit louder, more commanding than she needs to be in an effort to cover up the way she faltered. It’s easier to pretend she's not affected by anything when her face is covered; she's grateful for her helmet at times like this. If only her voice got the "stoic and unflinching" memo like the rest of her.

Dinah doesn’t reply, simply turns her back to Helena and shuts herself off in her private chambers.

The rest of the day is quiet, both because Dinah doesn’t go anywhere besides her room and the dining room and because Dinah won’t talk to her. No matter what Helena tries. Helena’s never had to push for conversation, doesn’t know how to engage people like that. A few faltering starts to a conversation and Helena gives up, letting herself lapse into the silence that she’s used to.

None of the other soldiers talk to her unless they have to. Helena just has to act like this is the same. It doesn’t  _ feel  _ the same though. Helena wants Dinah to talk to her, to just look at her, even if it’s just to glare or yell at her. She goes to sleep with an uncomfortable feeling in her chest, Dinah the last thing on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinah's taking her frustrations out on poor Helena :(
> 
> I just realized that I wrote about 5k between these first 2 chapters for just the first day...things should move a bit faster from here or else I'll never finish this story lmao
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think either here or on tumblr @ super-rangers! Comments definitely help me write better.


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